Provost Ramsay.—Hoot, I wad fain think that the warst is past, and that there is nae danger o' onything happenin' now. But do ye ken, sir, it is my fixed and solemn opinion, that, before onything really is gaun to happen to a body, or to ony o' their friends, like, there is a kind o' something comes ower ane—a sort o' sough about the heart there—an' ye dinna ken what for.
Sir Alex.—Have ye beheld how they are raising bastions,
Flanking fresh cannon, too, in front the town,
Gaining new reinforcements to their camp,
And watching all our outgoings? Do you think
This looks as Edward meant to keep his faith?
I am betrayed, my friends—I am betrayed.
Fear marcheth quickly to a father's breast—
My sons are lost! are lost!
Provost Ramsay.—It's true that King Edward's preparations, and his getting sic fearfu' additions to his army, doesna look weel. But what is a king but his word mair than a man?
Enter Servant.
Servant.—Lord Percy craves an audience with your honour.
Sir Alex.—Conduct him hither. 'Tis as I boded!
[Exit Servant—enter PERCY.
You look grave, my lord.
Percy.—Faith, if I can look grave, to-day I should:
None of my mother's children, gossips said,
Were born with a sad face; but I could wish
That I had never smiled, or that her maid
Had been my mother, rather than that I
Had been the bearer of this day's vile tidings.
Sir Alex.—'Tis of my sons!—what! what of them, Lord Percy? What of them?